We've Got Tonight, But I Needed The Morning
by Rileyzard
Summary: "I guess I had Quinn but the fact that she lives an hour away and I never thought about calling her should say something to me." Santana never thought about calling Quinn, but Quinn is still awaiting her call. Canon Quinntana through the eyes of Quinn Fabray. Oneshot


**A/N: I know that I have a work in progress that hasn't been updated in a couple of weeks, but I promise I'm working on it and I haven't abandoned it. **

**This story was inspired by Santana's line in the episode "Trio" and an insane amount of rewatching anything that had my OTP (Quinntana) in it. **

**I tried to keep it as canon as possible, but I usually write complete AU's, so bear with me.**

**Another huge thank you to my real life Quinn, Ashley. Love you, Beeb.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

"_I guess I had Quinn but the fact that she lives an hour away and I never thought about calling her should say something to me."_

* * *

You can still feel those nimble and graceful fingers trailing up and down your skin, raising goose bumps, shudders and sighs like only an experienced lover can.

You know that Santana and Brittany broke up, but what they had was love; there was never any doubt about that. Even when the three of you were too young to understand what any of that meant, you had a slight idea. Because what you saw and heard at night, when they thought you were sleeping was just like the things you read in books. The stacks of hopelessly romantic novels you kept on your nightstand, because you have been a hopeless romantic yourself ever since you could remember.

The wine coolers and the insult to your perfect physique had been the perfect excuses for letting you go of everything you considered sacred and holy, sacrificing them in favor of feelings; romance and love and promises of forever.

Like the ones you heard before the sun rose, in the pink sleeping bags next to yours.

You never knew if he held you after taking your innocence like a true gentleman.

In reality, the only thing you wanted was to be held, because you already felt like you were falling apart and it was just too hard to keep yourself together alone.

Yet, you were always too ashamed and scared to ask.

Now that many months have passed and you've started a new life, you try to convince yourself that you can only remember high school as an array of confused and repressed feelings, nothing else. You try to convince yourself that you can't pinpoint anything specifically. That there are no words forever carved on your skin, that only you can see.

"_Don't __you feel anything anymore__?"_

"_The world never stopped loving you."_

"_You're a disgrace."_

"_You have everything."_

"_Get out of my house."_

"_There is only one person in the world that you care about and that's yourself."_

They were all lying. That's what you whispered to yourself every lonely night, or rather every lonely day. Because before your accident and after the whole skank debacle, you sort of fell off the face of the Earth. You faded into the background, even when you were so desperate to find someone just willing to hear what you had to say, before trying to kiss you.

You were afraid of kisses now.

You desperately wanted somebody to show the shoebox full of poems you had written. The tattered notebook with your stories. The outline to your novel.

Something, anything.

But nobody did. Not even the conflicting explosion of argyle and pristine Mary Jane's, that claimed so soulfully to want your company.

Until _she _noticed.

You tried not to dwell on it, she had Brittany. Now more than ever, after the campaign ad aired and everything exploded.

You were there every step of the way. You never ceased to remind Santana that your phone was always on if she wanted to talk. No matter what time it was, she could call or text. Or even drop by in the middle of the night, now that Russell wasn't around.

She nodded and gave you tearful nods, Brittany called you selfless.

But you knew that in that moment, you were the most selfish person ever.

You _needed _her to need you.

You needed her velvet voice to interrupt the excruciating loneliness in your house. You needed her name to pop in the screen of your phone to cover your wallpaper, those chubby pink cheeks and the face that looked so much like your own.

You needed her to need you so you could finally have some proof that you weren't invisible.

But she never did.

You never blamed her though; you all had enough in your plates. It was senior year, after all. You had already been accepted into Yale's early admissions, why bother focusing on you, when there were people still struggling to graduate?

The truck came out of nowhere, yet it seemed too much of a coincidence.

More than once, you found yourself wondering what on Earth had you done so awfully wrong to be stuck in the seemingly never ending cycle of destruction. You had paid your debts for your past faults, you were finally straightening out your life. Why were the people with simple lives like Sugar or Tina or even Mercedes standing upright, unscathed? It was a horrible thought, and you loved your friends, but sometimes the morphine and all the drugs made your thoughts eerily dark and unfamiliar.

You hoped it was the morphine.

Now, you were stuck on a wheelchair and everybody was baffled at the way you coped.

Invisible Quinn turned into Survivor Quinn, such an example of braveness, of resilience, of strength. Somehow, your defects were forgotten and you turned into a martyr.

That made you want to scream, because it was all so fake. You didn't need them right now, you needed them back then. Artie was now interested in you like he had never been before and it was laughable. Pathetically laughable.

At least you could use him to chase the loneliness away for a couple of hours.

Still, you kept chasing those dark chocolate eyes with your own, it was mainly the only reason why you kept your chin high and your forehead not aimed towards the floor.

Because when your eyes connected, you felt _something. _It was warm, it was scorching, it was gentle, and it was electrifying.

It lasted for less than a couple of seconds, but it was the only hope you had in your life.

That you weren't dead inside.

You figured that asking her to come with you to the physical therapy appointments was too much. Plus, she was helping with Brittany's campaign.

Then Joe stepped in and he successfully managed to absorb more loneliness and scar you forever with his involuntarily anatomy lessons against your weak legs.

More ironies in life.

The doctors pricked your calves with needles and you couldn't feel anything. He poked you with his "excitement" and you felt everything.

You will never forget the jolt that shot through you when you got paired with _her _to count the votes for Prom royalty. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, your stomach had been invaded with rabid pterodactyls and your hands were sweating and shaking. Not even your smile would come out right, even if you wanted to squeal and shriek and maybe do a little victory dance on your wheels.

You felt like a naïve schoolgirl with a crush when it meant the world to you that she had called you her "home girl." But maybe that was because you still were a naïve schoolgirl with a crush.

A gargantuan crush.

You got to spend more time with her. You started talking a little bit more, texting a little bit more, getting to know each other a little bit more.

You treasured those moments with her so much that you always teared up when she had to go home. You always blamed it on your useless legs cramping but you never expected her to kneel in front of you with concerned eyes and start massaging your calf with such tenderness that it literally sucked the air out of your lungs.

It was then that you realized that you had never ever been touched so gently before.

It was in that moment that you _knew _what had to be done and when.

It was her fierce spirit that gave you the strength to wobble those few first steps at your physical therapy appointment.

You needed the perfect way to thank her without words and you knew exactly when that moment would arrive.

_Watching every motion in my foolish lover's game_

If you had almost died from a heart attack when you were paired with her to count votes, you surely died and came back to life a couple of times when Mr. Schue said "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin. It was one of the most played songs on your iTunes and you had a particular attraction to watching fanmade music videos of your favorite couples paired with that song.

_On this endless ocean, finally lovers know no shame_

You agreed quickly and hastily rolled away to the nearest bathroom, emotion seeping out of your hazel eyes at alarming speed. A few minutes later, when you were already composed, she came into the bathroom and kneeled before you, softly asking, "Where does it hurt?"

_Turning and returning to some secret place inside_

Everywhere.

Yet, nothing hurt when she was with you.

_Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say_

Rehearsals were a dream and a nightmare. The effort of being ice cold HBIC had nothing on you trying to reign in your feelings and keep them inside as you sung one of the ultimate love songs ever to your best friend, ex frenemy and impossible crush.

_Take my breath away._

You don't remember exactly when you got to the realization, you just know it was that stupid song. That stupid chorus.

She had already taken your breath away. So many times.

And you loved her.

You loved her.

Your feelings kept growing at an unbearable speed, you felt like a time bomb just waiting to explode. You needed a push, you wanted the push.

And you knew that the push wouldn't come from Finn, even if he was actually about to _push _you off your wheelchair in the middle of the dance floor.

He never understood anything.

_Through the hourglass I saw you, in time you slipped away_

Rachel was Prom Queen. You and Santana had done that and seeing the look of success in her eyes was everything you ever wanted, no matter what you had to sacrifice.

_When the mirror crashed, I called you and turned to hear you say_

Now, it was time.

_If only for today, I am unafraid_

You started singing, and you gave everything you had. You laid your soul bare for everyone to see, even if they didn't realize what you were doing. You kept singing, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop singing to _her._

It was like you were entranced.

_Watching every motion in this foolish lover's game_

Everybody was watching. You had every possible odd pointing towards the fact that you would fail, that you would plunge face-first into the history of McKinley's failures. But you didn't care. For the first time, you didn't.

_Haunted by the notion, somewhere there's a love in flames_

In your world, it was only you and her.

_Turning and returning to some secret place inside_

Besides, you knew that no matter what, she wouldn't let you fall.

_Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say_

And you were right, she didn't.

_Take my breath away_

Your bones creaked and your muscles ached as you pulled yourself up. One foot followed the other one on the ground and the world witnessed as Quinn Fabray rose once again from the ashes.

_Take my breath away_

It was all her fault. You did it because of her. You could've chosen any other moment to get back on your feet but you didn't.

Because as she wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you close, she held you.

She was holding you. No matter if your strength was wavering and everyone was pointing.

She was keeping you together.

You felt faint for a second, but her grip only tightened. She really wasn't going to let you fall.

Your faces where so close and your eyes connected with hers, but you just stood your ground, signing your heart out with every word. Because this moment was the most scared and holy and you wouldn't sacrifice it for anything in the world.

_Take my breath away, my love_

You couldn't stop crying for the next couple of hours and she held you, Brittany was there too, but it didn't matter. You had finally found some release, some peace, and some freedom.

And it was all her fault.

She never left.

She was there, helping you learn how to dance again, because you were going to dance with her during Nationals. There was no option B.

And even if there was no wheelchair and no cramps, the gentle touches never faded.

It was as if she knew how much you needed them.

But you were once again too afraid to ask.

And now, you were National champions, and it was as if nothing had happened, because now you had her in your arms as you twirled around on the stage.

Sure, a couple of seconds later, you fell, a mess of limbs and red dresses, but all the members of the New Directions joined in the spontaneous victory cuddle pile.

Yale was okay.

You had fantasized about college life ever since you found out what it meant.

It was lonely. You were completely alone for once, now that things didn't worked the way they used to in high school.

You didn't even know what you wanted, now that there was no pressure.

So you went with the flow.

Your older teacher loved your poetry, and you fell for something you thought you had gotten over a few months ago.

Your compulsion to get over your loneliness.

Your Metro North Pass was neatly thumbtacked to your corkboard, but Rachel was always _so _busy. And it didn't feel very appealing to face the past you had swiftly left behind so soon.

_She _was also very busy too.

You knew her priority was Brittany, her girlfriend. But you craved a tiny piece of her affections, the ones you had taken for granted.

There was nobody around to ask what hurt.

Thanksgiving, and you rushed to Ohio. You had your hopes raised so high that it was only a matter of time before they came crashing down.

And they did.

All because of that stupid pride game that neither of you seemed to have gotten over with.

You knew you weren't entirely innocent.

You felt vulnerable against the person that had the most control over you, and your walls came back up.

Before you knew, both of you had each other's palms imprinted on your cheeks.

At least, she still made you feel.

Yale was still lonely. Yale was still cold.

You knew they were all busy, you were busy too, but you replied right away when any of them texted you.

They didn't.

It had been a long time since you had felt so alone.

And now Rachel wanted to lose her shirt for a dumb independent movie and you played your philanthropic card to come and save the day.

Because you would get to see _her. _

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

You wanted to write her all the love songs, but you were better with poetry.

You sung and danced next to them, and you felt at home for a while.

But Yale was still lonely.

But Mr. Schue and Emma were getting married on Valentine's Day, and it seemed like the perfect distraction.

She looked so good.

"Rosario" looked so good that you actually spent most of the time daydreaming about what your wedding would be like.

_I know it's late, I know you're weary _

It would most definitely not be a failure, like this one.

_I know your plans don't include me _

Alcohol was the perfect wingman, even if you had less than what it looked like.

_Still here we are, both of us lonely __  
__Longing for shelter from all that we see _

The gentle touches were back, slightly intoxicated, but still there.

You couldn't get enough of each other; it was your dream come true.

When it was time to slow dance, you thought she would drag you for another drink or something, but she didn't.

She took you in her arms and pulled you to the dance floor. Your head resting on her shoulder and her head resting on yours.

You could feel her heartbeat, her fingers tracing aimless patterns on your back.

Could there be promises in those invisible doodles?

There was barely any alcohol in between the two of you now, but she also seemed guarded. You would never blame her.

You just wanted a chance.

For what? You didn't exactly knew. But you wanted it.

The first kiss was everything you had imagined and craved to be.

It was your first kiss, the legitimate one.

Maybe a little bit sloppy, but you weren't one to get demanding.

Not right now.

When the girl you loved was kissing you.

And you were still in her arms.

The party was over and she dragged you towards the room you shared.

Emma and Mr. Schue had assigned them. Maybe they knew.

You knew you were about to make another one of the worst mistakes of your life, or the best mistake you had ever made.

Her lips and her touches were everywhere, bending you at her own will, with a control that almost scared you. But you were too lost in everything that was her to even bother.

_I've longed for love, like everyone else does_

It was as if she knew you like the palm of her hand, as if she had known you forever and then some more.

_I know I'll keep searching, even after today_

Maybe she did.

And you did too.

You had never been with another girl before, yet your heart seemed to take over your body.

And she liked it, there was no doubt about that.

_Why don't you stay?_

Just like with Brittany and Santana in the past, you knew there was love right now, with the two of you.

The way she traced over your scars with her fingers and then with her lips.

The way she worshipped your body.

The way you left the light on and actually made eye contact more than once.

The way she just seemed to take all the pain away.

_Where does it hurt?_

The way she still had the same effect on you.

_Take my breath away, my love._

You fell asleep, tangled together.

And you knew that this particular night felt just like how you wanted your forever to feel.

_We've got tonight_

_Who needs tomorrow?_

You needed tomorrow, that was what you realized when you woke up alone.

At first, you weren't really that terrified just yet, because you knew Santana and her ways.

The terror came once you realized that she was really taking the space you were giving her.

No texts, no calls, no nothing.

Nobody to ask where it hurt.

Yale was more freezing than ever.

You gave up and texted her.

It was so awkward and forced, that you cried for two weeks straight.

You called her, and the sound of her grumpy voice shattered you and fixed you at the same time. Until Rachel's voice came out of nowhere, accusing her of stealing some "body-shaped" pillow.

You were forced to listen to them, giggling and horsing around in their studio apartment, tears streaming down your face as Santana's phone laid forgotten.

Apparently, it was Puck the one that was supposed to let you know that Finn had died.

But you hadn't talked to him since Thanksgiving, he was always losing his phone and you tried not to seem so desperate to talk to anyone, even if you really were.

He claimed that he hadn't let you know because he was in too much pain to say the words out loud.

You didn't doubt that for a second, but you had already missed his funeral, his memorial and everything else.

Finn never understood anything, but you had loved him.

Like a friend, always like a friend.

It took you a month to get out of your dorm, good thing you lived alone.

You made up for the missed classes using the good old waterworks, your perfect attendance record and your GPA. Plus, you looked like death warmed up and your professors liked you a lot, so there wasn't much problem.

You sent her a desperate email, offering like always, your comfort, your shoulder, your ear.

She never replied.

Neither did they.

You needed somebody to need you, because there was nobody to comfort you. You needed the comfort. It was Finn. He was _your_ quarterback too. You were part of the New Directions too.

Nobody cared.

And she still hadn't called.

* * *

Nowadays, you still sleep with your phone clutched in your hand. She still has her own ringtone; for emails, texts, calls, Twitter and Facebook alerts.

It never rings.

You still fall asleep to the echo of those caramel fingers tracing your scars, massaging your muscles, making you sigh and kissing your temple.

There's a cute boy that's been pleading for your attention. He's everything you would've loved to have before you met her.

You know you want him so he can take away the loneliness.

Because despite that, he doesn't make you _feel. _

He's not in your promises of forever.

He's not the one who will ask what hurts.

You don't want to write him a love song

He's not the tomorrow you need.

He doesn't take your breath away.

Yale is still cold.

Yale is still lonely.

And she still hasn't called.


End file.
